


High Fashion

by gallifreyburning



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Rose is a shop owner, and the Doctor opens a velvet suit emporium across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Fashion

Rose Tyler loathes him.

She loathes his ridiculous velvet suits, and that he can’t be bothered to at least put on proper shoes to match, and he strolls around in ridiculous white Chucks instead.

She despises the fact that he opened his specialty gentleman’s store directly across the street from her boutique, as though  _velvet menswear_  was enough of a fashion commodity to base an entire business around.

She hates that he hasn’t gone belly-up and slunk out of the neighborhood yet, back to whatever alien planet is populated by velvet-suited oddballs. She hates every single day she’s arranged the mannequin display in the front window of her own shop, and his “Velvet Suits ‘R Us” sign gleams at her from across the street in that unearthly shade of blue.

She can’t stand how he’s completely ignorant of real fashion — he stocks any and everything that catches his eye. On a  _whim_. Without a clue as to what’s happening on the runways this year and next. And somehow there are enough gullible blokes in London to keep him in business, to get talked into purchasing three-piece velvet suits as though they’re being invited on some wild, thrilling adventure. 

She dislikes his incessantly friendly attitude. The way he takes her insults as though they’re meant as constructive criticism, grinning like he understands something no one else does, and one particularly infuriating afternoon, _winking_  in response. She especially dislikes the way her stomach flutteredand her cheeks grew warm. And she dislikes the dreams she had after that, too — every vivid detail. 

She’s irritated by the fact that he decided to come to Fashion Week this year, and that he somehow managed to end up sitting just in front of her, so she was forced to stare at the lean, velvet-suited line of his torso and the wild chestnut shock of his hair for two full days. His hair, which is obviously as pleasantly startled about life as he is.

She’s put out by the way she wished he would turn around and talk to her a few more times than he actually did; and put out because he didn’t notice her dress, which happens to be the same unearthly blue color as his shop sign.

She’s mildly annoyed to discover, behind the BFC tent, that his hair is as soft as it looks, and he smells like nutmeg and aftershave.

And he’s quite a fantastic kisser.

She only minds a little bit, that he leaves his velvet waistcoat at her flat, and she has to cross the street and step foot inside his shop to return it to him the next evening. 


End file.
